Crack in the Mirror
by Merci
Summary: The scars on Jin's back are a painful reminder of his darker half. They weigh on his mind and become like a thorn that triggers phantom pains, nightmares, and self-loathing. Yaoi. Lars/Jin
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Crack in the Mirror  
><strong>Author:<strong> Merci  
><strong>Source:<strong> Tekken  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Jin/Lars  
><strong>Summary:<strong> The scars on Jin's back are a painful reminder of his darker half. They weigh on his mind and become like a thorn that triggers phantom pains, nightmares, and self-loathing.

**Warnings:** Angst, comfort, anal, incest, depression, anxiety, self-hatred  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I am making no profit from this fanfiction. I do not own Tekken, Jin, or Lars.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> This was a fill for the Tekken Kink Meme  
>The prompt was: "<em>Jin has scars on his back from his transformations into Devil Jin. He's ashamed of them. Lars knows about them and doesn't care. During an intimate moment where Lars is making love to Jin he licks the scars to show Jin they don't bother him. Jin's tormented yet grateful about it, but doesn't say so. Kink being Emotional Themes."<em>_  
><em>

* * *

><p>Jin was far from narcissistic. He had more important things to do than spend his time preening in the mirror, so it was by chance that he first noticed them while exiting the shower. The scars were angry and red on his back and he dropped the towel in surprise. Whatever had been going through his mind slammed to a halt and he moved automatically, eyes focused on the marks as he reached back to touch them, trace their lines and, unwillingly remember their cause.<p>

He twitched as a memory lanced through him; the feeling of dark wings burrowing out of his back and bursting into bloom, the terrible and violent horns that spiraled out of his skull towards heaven, though there was nothing heavenly about the spirit that stirred within, engulfing his mind and consuming him. He couldn't remember much after his darker half took over, though, the memories brought with them phantom pains and his fingers recoiled at the feeling. The angry scars seemed to burn, though he knew it was just his imagination. He couldn't afford to fall to the influence of his evil half. There were too many plans, so much at risk of failing, and he needed to focus and stay true to his goal.

He wouldn't let his darker side out.

He couldn't afford it.

Over the following weeks, despite his resolve, Jin caught himself absently checking any reflection to see if the marks of his devil form were still there. Mirrors, window reflections, he'd even caught himself straning with a smartphone to get a look. He knew it was unhealthy, but he felt compelled. He had to. _Had_ to see if his otherself had left behind more scars.

He'd tried putting it from his mind, but he could feel the hot marks left behind. He could feel it through his shirt and the scar tissue was always visible to him when he changed his clothes. At first he'd been annoyed, but that quickly morphed into a seed of shame that germinated in his subconsciousness. He was marked by the thing that he'd been fighting to overcome. His lip curled in distaste whenever he thought of it. Eventually, he began avoiding mirrors.

Then he had them removed.

It should have helped. Not seeing the marks should have eased his mind, but it just gave his imagination and memory free reign.

Jin sat at his desk, deep in thought, reliving the horror of the horns growing on his forehead, when Lars Alexandersson surprised him. When had he entered the office?

"Mr. Kazama, take a look at this," Lars Alexandersson offered him a file. Did he even knock?

Jin shrugged off the unpleasant thought and accepted the file, focusing on the document but feeling his mind wander again. If Lars had been an assassin, he might be dead at that moment. He reached up to his forehead again, feeling what he thought was the burning feeling of - he nearly jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder and jerked away, looking to see… Lars. Again. When had he moved to stand beside him? Jin instinctively squirmed away from the touch, feeling his back burning under the weight of the officer's hand. "T-thank you, Mr. Alexandersson."

Lars nodded, but didn't move.

"Was there something else?"

"You've been working late. I thought you'd like to do something tonight. The latest project is nearing completion. Think of it as a… well, a celebration."

Jin's expression dropped. Normally, he'd welcome Lars' invitation to go out, and then return the favour by inviting him back to his bed, but he wasn't in the mood. "Perhaps later."

"As you wish," Lars snapped to attention and saluted, slipping back into the good soldier role. He may have been confused by Jin's cold demeanour, but he had enough sense to keep his questions to himself.

Jin sighed in relief when he left and rushed to lock the doors after him. Lars had never seen his darker side, and Jin would rather not have shown him that evening. He'd already shown another his dark side after a heated street race had stirred his blood and… no! He clenched his fist and punched the door. He didn't want to remember! Everything felt hot, too hot. Jin dropped to his knees and hugged his chest. The dark spirit was laughing, the rising creschendo falling into rhythm with his racing pulse as it thrilled at his broken heart.

It pushed at Jin's defenses, but only to test his resolve. Jin was still strong, even through his tears, but that didn't stop it from pushing forward new memories into Jin's mind's eye. Memories he'd not been witness to, not been conscious for, but the devil half had used his body to make. There, he saw him. The man who had been a constant in most of Jin's young adult life. He'd pushed Jin's boundaries, and entered Iron Fist tournaments all in the name of a 'rematch' to their first fight. Their first fight had been a draw, and all subsequent matches had been interrupted, but their last bout… when the devil had been in control... Jin's heart ached when he saw what had become of Hwoarang. He'd known the other fighter had been hospitalized and that he couldn't see him anymore, but to know exactly what had happened, how badly his fists had ruined him…

Jin came to on the floor of his office, curled up in a ball and screaming. His lungs hurt and his throat was sore, but, even after he was aware enough to stop, he kept going. The scream turned to tears and he wailed against the marble, forcing his lungs to eject that awful sound and all the regret and self-hatred that had saturated him. It was getting to be too much. He didn't know how much longer he could go on.

Even after he woke up the next day, he didn't trust himself. As the days wore on, he felt himself slipping whenever he was alone, so he fell back on old habits. He increased his training and meditation schedule, pushing his body and mind to clarity through exhaustion.

His efforts worked, for a while, and Jin felt as if he was slowly dragging himself up a ladder, out of hell and into something better. The devil's voice couldn't even get through the walls he'd put up and Jin was almost feeling relief, but that was when the nightmares started. If his small victory had been a rung up the ladder out of hell, then the nightmares dragged him down five. The devil's shades and memories filled his unconscious mind, and lurked just on the fringes of thought when he was awake.

It wore him down faster than he'd anticipated.

"Shit!" Jin hissed as he punched his office wall, cracking the marble panel. "I-idiot!" He couldn't think of anything to say. His scars! If they didn't hurt him and glare at him in the mirror… it was all their fault. Such a stupid little thing had given the devil strength to eat at his dreams. He could handle the memories - even the awful evil he'd perpetrated - but to have that constant reminder there, burning, aching… he reached back to touch the mark again, but stopped himself. His throat tightened he closed his hand in a fist. He _would_ overcome this, but it was hard to focus on his work. Was his meeting with the minister at 2 o'clock, or was it… where did he put the file? He rushed to his desk to look through the stacks of paperwork when a loud knock at the door spilled his churning anger. "What?" he snapped before composing himself.

In the seconds it took Lars to open the door and step inside, Jin coiled his anxieties and anger up in a nice neat package and appeared collected and in command once more. "Mr. Alexandersson. Can I help you?"

Lars' expression was carefully neutral as he closed the door behind him and stepped into the office. "Mr. Kazama," he began. "You missed the shareholder's meeting at twelve…"

Jin could feel his mood darken. "I see."

"I sent your regrets for being absent. I told them that pressing matters kept you away, and they all seemed to understand, but…" Lars trailed off. "We are… I'm concerned, sir. You haven't been yourself lately."

Jin's lip curled up at that. "And what makes you think you _know me_, Mr. Alexandersson?" He turned away from him, looking out the window to avoid his subordinate's sincere expression. "Just because we shared a bed does not mean-"

"Of course sir, I just-"

Jin half-listened to the excuses, his eyes caught in his reflection. Staring back at him was a man who was a few scars short of being his father._Kazuya._

Somewhere inside he felt the dark consciousness shift.

"Acknowledged. Now leave," Jin hissed, cutting Lars off and waving him away.

He needed to be alone. He might have shared his bed with Lars. Might have kissed him and felt some sort of connection with him.

But that had happened before.

And it had ended before.

And Jin didn't need another to see what he really was.

_He_ didn't want to see what he really was.

Nobody should ever care about him. It would be easier that way.

He barely realized Lars had left him before he felt his reflection crack, the broken glass cutting his fist.

The injury was barely satisfying, even as he watched the blood run down his arm and stain his shirt sleeve.


	2. Chapter 2

Lars may have left, but he was nothing if not persistent.

Jin had ducked him for the third time that week before he realized he would need to assign him further away. He wanted to be alone, and Lars couldn't take a hint.

He had adjusted his schedule, introducing random bursts of martial arts training in between meetings. Losing himself in exercise made it harder for the scars - his sin - to claw its way into his consciousness. His hands may have been stained with blood, but he needed to focus on the future. His goal.

He called a meeting with the shareholders to smooth things over and assure them a great return on investment before rushing to work the bag in his office before going to inspect his troops and slide in an intense stamina exercise afterwards. His body was exhausted when he got home late that night, but his scars still felt warm, and his mind was active. He knew from experience he wouldn't be able to sleep when his head hit the pillow. He loosened his tie and decided that a few hours in the dojo might drain him of his strength to dwell on the past.

The next thing Jin knew, he was in bed, dressed in nothing but gold silk sleep pants, and surrounded by pillows and warm blankets. He opened his eyes and looked about, seeing Lars perched in the armchair by his bed. "L- Alexandersson?" he asked, trying to sit up, but feeling dizzy. He hated how his voice sounded small. Like a child.

Lars didn't shift or move from his place in the shadows. His eyes seemed the only points of light as they focused on Jin, narrowing in thought. "What's happening with you?" Lars' voice was missing its usual caring undertone. Its light accent. It's everything that calmed Jin's nerves.

Jin took a breath. "It's noth-"

"Bullshit," Lars hissed and rose from the chair, moving to the window and seeming to collect himself. "But, if you don't want to tell me… if you don't trust me, that's your prerogative. I just…" he rubbed the back of his neck and bowed his head. "I guess I thought you trusted me more than that. I'm sorry for presuming. Sir."

Jin's heart sank. "No." He climbed from bed and stood before Lars on weak legs, unwilling to let him go while he was still composing his thoughts. So many people didn't understand. He'd burned so many bridges. He'd lost one person he cared about, he didn't want to lose another… Jin turned sharply from Lars and shook his head, trying to compose himself ."I've never see you from... behind." "That's not it, Lars. I'm sorry, I… have been preoccupied lately."

He nearly jumped when Lars moved behind him and touched his back. It might have felt nice, but he worried about the scars, the wings, the thorny crown of bone that heralded the evil he was capable of.

As if reading his mind, Lars moved his fingers to the marks that burned in Jin's mind, tracing their path and jagged edges.

Jin forced himself to breathe and allowed Lars to continue, his fists tightening at his sides as he waited for it to be over.

"I never noticed these before," Lars said absently.

Jin opened his mouth, but any protests caught in his throat. Like a statue, he was mute and unable to turn, could not shrink away or shrug off Lars' touches. The cool fingers moved unopposed over his skin, over the burning scars. Jin exhaled a shaky breath and tried to relax.

Lars didn't give up.

_So persistent_, Jin thought. He was like another who was stubborn and persistent and wouldn't under any circumstances let Jin brush him off. He followed him and made him feel something…

Jin's heart ached at the thought, but those fingers brought him back to the present; where he was, who he was.

And then things shifted.

The fingers were replaced by something soft and wet. A shudder tore through Jin and all he could think of and feel was Lars' tongue. "I…"

"I'll stop if you want, but I think you need this." Lars said against Jin's back.

Jin sighed. "You don't think they're ugly?" he asked.

He could feel Lars' smile and then the suction as he drew the scars in, pulling out the awful feelings and devouring them like a leech.

He wanted to hate them.

He wanted to mope and focus on those scars and the evil that plagued his nightmares again. He wanted to dwell on every awful thing he'd done, but, more than that, he wanted to _feel_. Feel Lars' warmth behind him, his sure hands as they wrapped around his bare chest, pinching and squeezing tense muscles. His thigh as it pushed between Jin's legs, rising high between them and teasing his manhood.

Jin felt himself crumble. Break into pieces. He wanted it. Wanted it all.

HIs pants slid to his ankles and he stood naked in his bedroom, with Lars worshiping his body with mouth, hands, and flesh.

Jin tried to shift, to meet Lars halfway, but he tripped and Lars caught him, holding him close and tight. A heartbeat went by and then he was being carried to the bed, pressed face-first into the army of pillows that awaited his aching, naked, wet, and needy body.

Lars was hot and smooth behind Jin, his armour having disappeared sometime between the first lick and Jin losing his clothing. He welcomed Lars' penetration, even the warm, accepting tongue that tirelessly traced along the scars. Marks of his hated self.

The scars sent shivers of pain and excitement through him, driving him further to arousal, and shame. His hated self was stirring, taking notice.

Jin could only groan as Lars moved inside him, stroking and licking.

The devil purred in interest, but the sound was muted and seemed far away.

Perhaps Lars was right. The scars were a mark of the past, but Jin's focus was the future. If Lars could accept him with his marks, perhaps he should learn to accept them, too. Jin felt a spark of excitement; perhaps it would be different this time!

Jin moaned into the pillows and thrust back into Lars body and shuddered in release, even as the shame burned on his back. It wasn't shameful. It wasn't evil. It was okay. He could go on.

Deep in his mind, he could feel the poisonous aura swirling in excitement.

It didn't matter anymore, he realized.

The memories were painful, but they did not rule him, just as the devil could not control him.

Lars accepted him. That's all Jin needed to know right then. He sank into soft pillows and gentle slumber with Lars curling up somewhere beside him.

Everything would be fine.

He drifted off, unaware of the muted voice that whispered just behind his dreams.

_Maybe_ it hissed, _your new toy would like to feel me. If he likes scars, he'll love the wings._


End file.
